


The Secrets That You Keep

by janescott



Category: Adam Lambert - Fandom, American Idol RPF, musician
Genre: M/M, community hurt_comfort bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:04:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the telepathy: always there, but sudden trauma square on my hurtcomfort bingo: http://janescott.livejournal.com/3955.html#cutid1</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secrets That You Keep

It's not something Tommy's ever told anyone.

 

After all, "Hey, I can read minds," would be a real conversation-stopper.

 

So he filters, and he filters, until he can reduce the constant buzz in his head to a kind of white noise that's sometimes comforting – and sometimes it's not.

 

Sometimes thoughts that are stronger than his filter slip through when he doesn't want them to, and he's heard far more of the ugly side of human nature than he ever wants to.

 

Those thoughts strike him sharply, like a blade to the brain.

 

He passes it off with a muttered 'migraine' when another pitch-black ugly thought gets past his oh, so carefully constructed mental walls, and for a few moments, his vision is dark-red with blood and a sense of hopelessness.

 

It's bad timing that it happens right at the end of one of the shows, and he feels like he's going to pass out on stage.

 

Filtering mass thoughts has become second nature, but almost always at a concert there's one, stray thought powerful enough to break through.

 

Tommy feels a hand on the back of his neck. Monte.

 

Monte's thoughts are full of his family; his wife, his kids; his babies, and underneath all of that an abiding and strong love for music that keeps him moving; gets him up on stage every night.

 

"You okay?" _I hope he's not getting sick again. If he gets sick again, and we all get sick …_

 

With an effort, Tommy brings down the mental curtain; reducing Monte's thoughts to a harmless, comfortable buzz.

 

"Migraine," he manages to grit out. "Just need … to lie down."

 

Monte's relieved, then guilty about feeling relieved because _jesus Christ the kid's in pain here …_

 

"Come on. Let's get you to the bus."

 

Tommy nods, and leans gratefully on Monte's shoulder. Monte says something to Lane; that Tommy won't be out signing tonight; he's got a migraine and really needs to lie down. Tommy feels irritation from Lane at first; pushing against his mind like a strong wind, and he whimpers in pain as it magnifies the ugliness that's fading, but still there.

 

His timing, as always, is fucking off, because Adam suddenly looms and Tommy doesn't even try to shut that down. He can barely keep Adam's thoughts out at the best of times (and this, Tommy thinks muzzily, is what fucking _love_ does to you, and he's grateful that Adam can't read _his_ thoughts, because they've worked out this friendship, which isn't enough for Tommy, but Adam won't budge on it and sometimes, sometimes, Tommy just wants to blurt out all of his secrets, because Adam's so stupidly in love with Tommy that … ) a sharp spike derails Tommy's thoughts as Adam's concern compounds Lane's irritation (which is wheeling rapidly to worry) and it's all too much.

 

"Monte," he manages. "Gonna … gonna pass out …"

 

Which is enough to get Monte moving. He picks Tommy up easily, which would be fucking embarrassing if Tommy's mental barriers were working like they should, but right now he really just doesn't fucking care.

 

He wants _quiet_ and to just be away from everyone, until the ugliness that's invaded his mind fades completely. He realizes he's not going to get that when he hears Adam frantically thinking _can't leave him alone tonight_ and the image from Adam's mind of Tommy curled up on Adam's bed rises to the surface.

 

It's nearly enough to dispel the ugliness, though, so Tommy lets it be, until Monte's putting him down on Adam's bed.

 

He should protest, he thinks vaguely, even as Adam's concern threatens to engulf him completely in the small space that's dominated by a queen-sized bed and not much else.

He's drained from the sudden, unexpected spike of blackness, and lets Adam's worry - a worry that always feels a lot like love - surround him for a moment. As he closes his eyes; he feels Adam settling behind him, curling a careful arm around Tommy's waist.

 

Adam's frantically not-thinking all kinds of things that Tommy wants to follow, and tease to the surface, but now isn't the time; his head really does fucking hurt, and sometimes the bad things linger that way – physical pain that takes too long to fade.

 

He closes his eyes; grateful for peaceful darkness, rather than a darkness of jagged shapes and bloody cracks, and lets himself slip into Adam's mind – just for a moment.

 

_after the tour,_ Adam's thinking as he stretches out his long frame behind Tommy. _i'll tell him after the tour … _.

 

Tommy lets the cool oblivion of sleep take him; riding on that one thought: _after the tour …_


End file.
